


bound by a fraying thread

by flipflop_diva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mild Sexual Content, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sister/Sister Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: Lost and alone, Narcissa sets out to find the one person left she truly cares for. Because sometimes moving forward means coming to terms with what happened in the past.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Andromeda Black Tonks
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38
Collections: Femmefest 2020





	bound by a fraying thread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



> Title taken from the song "What If?" by Emilie Autumn. The song started as my inspiration for this fic, but then took a left turn and kind of kept on veering away. But flyingharmony, I do hope you like it despite that! And Happy Femmefest to you!

She stood on the doorstep of the plain white house and tried to convince herself she had every right to be here. Her hand was shaking as she slipped it out of her pocket and held it up, fingers curled into a fist, her whole hand just inches away from the black wooden door.

She let out a shaky breath and dropped her hand, turning back around to face away from the house. 

She had been doing this same exact thing for over an hour now, and each time she turned away, every piece of doubt she had ever had in her life, every single insecurity she had ever wondered quietly about, rose up further and further toward the center of her consciousness.

She had no right to be here, but she had nowhere else to go. She was sure she wouldn’t be welcomed, but she had no one else to turn to. Not now. Not anymore.

She had run away once upon a time, scared away by doubt and judgement and society’s idea of what was wrong and right, but she was here now.

Maybe that would count for something?

Narcissa took a long, deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned back around to face the door.

She was — she would always be — a god damned Malfoy, and before that, she was — still is — a Black, and Blacks and Malfoys did not back down and they most certainly did not let anything get in the way of what they wanted.

She raised her hand again and knocked, three quick sharp raps against the wood, as if she had every right to be standing on this front porch.

It took a while before she heard footsteps, as though the woman inside was purposely stalling. 

Maybe she was. It seemed unlikely she didn’t know Narcissa had been standing at her door for such a long stretch of time. She always had been one of the most perceptive and intelligent people Narcissa knew.

The door opened, and Narcissa’s breath disappeared from her body.

The war had aged the woman before her, just as it had aged herself. Her light brown hair was now streaked with gray, as though the woman couldn’t be bothered to fully cover it anymore. Her eyes, once so loving and kind, seemed to have hardened and grown colder.

“Hello, Narcissa,” she said, and her voice was a cold, formal tone, much like their mother had often used when she was greeting people she did not approve of.

“Hello, Andy.”

Andromeda Tonks blinked at the whisper of the childhood nickname, once used to call her in the middle of the night when it was only the two of them, alone together, against the world.

The two sisters stared at each other now. Narcissa could see the questions in Andy’s eyes. _Why are you here? Why did you come? How could you come? Why now, why this moment, after everything?_

She didn’t ask them though. She didn’t slam the door in Narcissa’s face either. Instead, she stepped back, opening the door just enough for someone to slide through, and asked, still in that formal voice, “Would you like some tea?”

“I would love some,” Narciassa answered without hesitation, and she stepped through the small crack of the doorway into a house she had never expected to step foot in and, until six months ago, would never have wanted to, even if she had known it existed.

\--

Andromeda’s house was almost the opposite of her own. Or at least of the one she used to call her own. Until the Ministry came and seized it, forcing her out on to her own lawn, shame burning on her cheeks at the indignity, trying her hardest to be the strong, confident woman she had been raised to be, promising to make their lives a living hell if they did not stop what they were doing, but they did not stop, and she had finally Apparated away, running away from a life she no longer belonged to, powerless to control what was happening.

Her house — the one she had once lived in with her husband and her son — could seem cold, austere, formal to outsiders, but it had never seemed that way to her. The portraits that hung on the walls, the objects of value that were placed on the shelves, all were memories of who they were and where they had come from.

That house had seen grander parties than almost any house in the wizarding world. New Year’s Eve galas and magical Christmas parties. 

The who’s who of witches and wizards had walked through those doors, admiring each and every room and possession, and Narcissa had always smiled at them and greeted them to her home.

Andy’s house was small. A tiny sitting room next to a tiny kitchen with a tiny hallway leading off it, probably to a tiny bedroom and a tiny bathroom.

Everything was neat and tidy, but there was too much — too much stuff, too many colors. Too many oversized pillows on the oversized couch. Too many dishes crammed into the glass cabinets. Too many photographs hanging on the wall. 

Narcissa forced herself not to look at them. She did not want to see the man whose arms her sister had once turned to. She did not want to see the daughter that her sister once had. Nor the son in law who would never have been welcome in proper society.

She did not want to see that nowhere on that wall was her own face. Not their other sister’s. Nor their parents.

She did not want to see that she was not worth even a memory, not even now, when Andy, too, had no one else left.

She sat where Andy indicated, on the overly padded chair next to the small wooden table. Andy placed a mug of steaming tea in front of her, and sat down across from her. She did not say a word, but again Narcissa could see the questions right there in her eyes.

_Why are you here? Why did you come? How could you come? Why now, why this moment, after everything?_

They looked each other, and it was almost like looking back in time.

_Their eyes met, over the tops of their mugs. The sweet, cinnamon-flavored beverage warmed their throats and their chests, but something else warmed their fingers and toes and brought flushes to their cheeks and necks._

_They put down their mugs in unison and leaned toward each other, eyes sparkling and a laugh forming on their lips._

_Hands roamed and explored as they tumbled into the sea of blankets spread out on the ground. Their own private oasis. Away from everyone and everything._

_Just the two of them. Together. Forever._

\--

Narcissa blinked away the memory. She hadn’t thought about that particular moment in years, but she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought of any of it. But she had always shoved her past away, pushing it down into a box inside herself. A box kept closed so no one else could know.

What Lucius would have thought if he had known? What Draco would have thought? What the people who came to her home and marveled at her possessions and admired her beauty would have thought had they known?

But why had she always cared so much about what other people thought?

The silence stretched now between her and Andy, the only sound the soft clinking of mugs as they sat them down and immediately picked them back up, not wanting to leave enough time to actually have to say something.

But Narcissa hadn’t come here to sit across from her sister and not say anything. Hadn’t she lost too much already to not even try?

She summoned her courage, and put her mug down with a firm clink.

“I’m so sorry about your husband and daughter,” she said.

Andromeda eyed her over the top of her mug as she lowered it slowly from her mouth, placing it back down on the table. “You didn’t even know them.” 

Her voice was still cold, still formal, no trace of the girl who used to laugh with her and kiss her when no one was looking, who hid under the blankets with her and told her stories of what their life would be like someday when they were old enough to do what they wanted and not have to care about other people’s expectations.

“I know,” Narcissa replied. “But I know what it’s like to …” Her words trailed off as her sister’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that why you’re here?” she said. “Because you lost everything? Don’t think I don’t know you lost that mansion of yours too and that no one wants to hire the wife of a Death Eater who never worked a day in her life. Did you wake up this morning and think, maybe Andy will take me in? Surely she has to.”

“No,” Narcissa said, but she didn’t elaborate. What was there to say, to defend, at this moment? She could tell her sister that Lucius had tried his hardest to take care of his family and that his death, along with Draco’s, almost destroyed her. She could tell her sister that she tried to move on, but that every day was filled with such grief and despair and regret and sorrow that she could barely pull herself out of bed.

Regret for not protecting her only child. Regret for not forcing Lucius to get them out from under the dark lord’s control back when they had a chance. Regret for watching from a distance as first her son and then her husband were taken from her. Regret for running once they were, not picking either side and becoming an outcast to both.

Regret, regret, regret. 

So much of it. In her mind and in her heart. Weighing her down. Every single day. Eating her alive. Every hour of every day.

Regret for the choices she made long ago. Too scared of her own feelings.

_“You are better than her!”_ Bellatrix had once screamed at her, and Bellatrix was her older sister, so of course she had believed her. 

Because not believing her was too hard. 

Because being an outcast to her own family, her friends, was too horrible to imagine.

So she had run, to the first man who had loved her and she could love back. Without a word. Without a conversation.

She and Andy had been together the night before she left, sweet kisses and sweeter touches underneath a blanket, and she had fallen into her sister’s arms when they had finished, holding on to her as tight as she could, feeling her shallow breaths in her ear as their bodies pressed together, and she had vowed to herself that she would never forget.

But how could she have known that remembering would be too hard? How could she have known that less than a year later her sister would escape with a Muggle-born? That the sister she loved more than anything would be exiled from their family and their lives?

How could she have known that she had to forget to keep herself sane? How could she have known any of that? How?

And how could she explain that to her sister now?

So she didn’t.

“I wanted to see you,” she said. “I still love you.”

“What makes you think I still love you?”

The words were like ice, stabbing her in the heart. But she was a Malfoy and a Black before that and she was strong, and she had learned long ago to keep her real feelings in check.

“Nothing,” she answered. “But I had to know.”

She put her mug of tea down and got to her feet. 

“Thank you for the tea,” she said, in as calm a voice as she could manage. “I truly am sorry about your husband and daughter. I wish you peace. I will not bother you again.”

She turned then and exited the kitchen, walking as slowly as she could manage. She made it out the front door and Apparated back to the rundown hotel she had been staying at, managing to lock herself inside her tiny room, far away from any prying eyes, before she let any tears spill down her cheeks.

\--

It turned out there was more money and more treasures left in the Gringotts’ vault than Narcissa had known about. It wasn’t enough to keep their home or even the lavish lifestyle she was used to, but it was enough for a modest home, far away from where they used to live and from people who knew her. It was enough to start over, in a town with people who went about their business and didn’t care that she kept to herself.

She learned to cook and to garden, things she had always had servants for, and tried her best not to dwell on a past she could not fix.

But some days were better than others, and some days were worse. Some days she couldn’t leave her bed for fear that she would collapse in a puddle of tears should she bother to try. Some days all she could do was stare at old photographs, to watch her son and her husband waving at her, and feel like her heart was literally broken.

And some days she opened the small journal that no one else had ever known about and slipped out the picture hidden in the secret compartment in the back.

Her mother had thrown out every sign of her sister the day she had left with the Muggle-born, and she had demanded Narcissa and Bella do the same. But she couldn’t bear to have no reminders at all.

The picture was old and faded. Taken on Andy’s seventeenth birthday. Narcissa and Bella and Andy, their arms around each other’s shoulders, even now laughing and smiling and dancing.

The night the picture was taken was the first night she and Andy had truly been together. She remembered fumbling fingers and nervous laughter but nothing had ever felt more right.

It’s why she had never thrown away the photo. 

If the girls inside of it knew what was coming, what their lives would be like …

Now Narcissa kept the photo on the mantle of her new home, next to the photos of Draco and Lucius. A place of honor in her heart. Where all of them deserved to be.

\--

Narcissa had been living in her new home for six months when her doorbell chimed. No one had ever come to see her before, and in fact, none of her old friends even knew where she was. If they cared, which she doubted. They had ceased writing to her the moment they realized her money, and thus her prestige, was gone.

She opened her front door and gaped at the woman standing before her, blinking a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

She looked different than she had at her own house, just months after such a tragic loss. Her hair was now fully back to its soft brown color, and her eyes were full of kindness. She smiled at her sister, and her face exuded warmth and love, just like Narcissa remembered.

“Andy,” Narcissa breathed.

“Hello, Cissy. May I come in?” Even her voice was back to normal, the voice of the sweet, caring person she had always been.

Narcissa found herself nodding and opened the door wider for her sister. Her heart pounded in her chest. Why had she come? Why now?

“Would you like some tea?”

“If it’s not any trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

They sat at Cissy’s small kitchen table, the wood scratched and faded. She had purchased it from a Muggle store that sold used furniture. She had spent the entire time trying not to think what Lucius would say if he saw her. But she liked to think maybe he was proud she was surviving.

Andy looked around the small home. “This is a nice place you have,” she said. “Though I expect it is not nearly as nice as you are accustomed.”

“It does just fine,” Narcissa said.

Andy put down her tea. Her eyes were soft. “I’m sorry,” she said, and those were not words Narcissa had expected to hear come from her mouth. “For my behavior when you came by. I had not expected … I should not have been so cruel.”

“You had every right to be,” Narcissa murmured.

“No,” Andy said. “I did not. I was not the only one who was young once. But I had always been dreaming of a way out. You had always been dreaming of a life like Mother’s. And when Bella threatened to tell her about us …” Andy reached out and placed her hand over Narcissa’s fingers. Her palm was warm. Comforting. “I wish you had told me you were picking him. That is my only true sorrow. But I understand why you did it. Why you felt you must.”

Narcissa felt tears spring to her eyes as a rush of memories from a life long ago suddenly began playing in her mind, like someone turning on a movie without her permission.

How Bella had stood there and screamed at them, both of them still half naked, a sheet barely covering their bodies. How she had said she would tell Mother and Father. How they would be ridiculed, scorned. How even in pureblood society it was considered indecent.

How they would be kicked out, abandoned. How they would be nothing better than the Mudbloods they had gone to school with.

How Andy had pleaded with her, that they could find a way, that they could make Bella understand. How no one else would ever understand.

How she went to see Lucius that night, so visibly upset. How she lied and told him it was her parents, how they were too strict, too cruel, her sisters too crazy.

How he had professed marriage right then, how she had accepted. How she had packed her bags in the dead of night. How had she stolen into her sister’s bed one last time. How Andy had thought she had picked her.

How she had left and never looked back, not until her mother had send her a post with news of Andy’s betrayal to their kind.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Narcissa whispered now. “I loved you so much. I didn’t know how …”

“I know,” Andy said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have no need to be sorry.” Andy, still covering her hand, now squeezed her fingers. “If you hadn’t left, I would never have had my husband or my daughter. You wouldn’t have had your husband or your son. I know neither of us would ever trade those memories.”

“I could have made better choices,” Narcissa said.

“Yes,” Andy replied. “So could I.”

\--

Andy stayed that night for dinner. And then she stayed the night. She went home just after the sun came up the next day, but things were different now. They had both lost everything else, and now all they had was time.

Time to talk and share stories, about their lives and their loves. Time to remember and time to forgive. Time to get to know each other as they had grown to be, replacing the memories of who they had once had been.

It had been two months since Andy had arrived on Narcissa’s doorstep when she leaned over one night as they sat together on Narcissa’s small comfortable couch, brushed Narcissa’s long blonde strands out of the way and kissed her gently on the lips.

They made quick work of their clothes, and then they went slow, touching and exploring places they hadn’t seen in years and many they hadn’t seen at all — new wrinkles, new scars, new wounds from long lived lives.

They came completely together hours later, still on the small comfortable couch, and then they fell asleep, Narcissa’s head on Andy’s breast.

In the morning, they woke to sun pouring through the window. Andy kissed her on the cheek as she slipped back into her clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, as she turned around and vanished into thin air.

Narcissa smiled at where Andy had just been when something caught her eye. She looked up to see Lucius and Draco grinning and waving at her from the photo perched on the mantle.

She thought — and maybe it was her imagination — that they looked proud of her, pleased that although part of her life was gone, not everything was.

She touched her fingers to her lips, then blew them a kiss.

This wasn’t the life she had wanted — not as a young girl and not as a married woman — but it was the life she had, and finally, almost a year after she’d had her husband and son ripped from her, she was okay with that.


End file.
